Australians are quite conservative with their resources. Every outlet in the wall has switches so that the power to each plug can be shut off. It seems that part of the Australian habit is to use the appliance (toaster, washer, dryer, blender, etc.) and then turn off the switch. I cannot tell you how many times I tried to use the sandwich press at work and couldn't figure out why my sandwich wasn't toasted. Then, "Oh yeah, forgot to turn on the outlet." When I finally remembered to turn on the outlet, my sandwich still didn't get toasted because I was turning on the wrong one. The the toaster and coffee machine were plugged in the opposite of the way they were sitting on the counter. (Just like the I94 interchange by UofMN where you have to go east to go west.) I finally just switched the plugs around. Nothing better for lunch than a toasted sandwich.
This turning off also extends to water. When I arrived at Steve's, he gave me the tour of the house and explained that I had to turn the water on at the tap before I ran the washer. He showed me how to do that. Three days later, I did a load of wash. It's a front loader, and the cycle takes forever. Steve doesn't have a dryer, so I was pleased to discover that my clothes were practically dry when I took them out of the washer. "What a spin cycle!" I thought. "Totally worth it taking 2 hours to run." After a bit of hanging things on the clothes rack I started to get suspicious, so I sniffed something. STINK. Ok, so clearly, not washed. Then I remembered the instructions about turning on the water. My reward later that night, when I was trying to sleep in the next room, was listening to the vigorous spin cycle that made the washer bang up and down. Not so vigorous that my clothes were practically dry, however.
Last but not least (and probably not really the last), the other night I decided I would use the broiler to make nachos for dinner. There are three mysterious knobs on the oven, and most of the numbers and pictures have worn off. Remembering Jean's triumphant saving of Christmas dinner, I hit the internet to find directions. After 20 minutes of reading, I was pretty confident I knew how to get the oven to go.... but alas. Even following the instructions didn't make it work. I thought, "Aha! There's a plug somewhere that's not turned on." So I opened the next door cupboard and found the plug from the oven, but it was on. Despairing of having my 3rd meal in a row of yogurt, twigs, and berries, I knocked on the neighbor's door. "Is your oven like my oven? I can't figure out how to get it to turn on." She jumped right up from watching the Australian Open and came over to help me sort it out. "You have to turn on this and this, and set the timer."
"Yep, I tried all that and no luck."
"Hmm. There's usually a switch..." and then she flipped the mysterious "15A" switch next to the one that turns on the lights over the counter. Viola.
It's when I think I've got things figured out that the big Aussie turn off conspiracy strikes again.
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